CELTIC    MEMORIES 


CELTIC   MEMORIES 

AND   OTHER   POEMS 


BY 

NORREYS   JEPHSON   O'CONOR 


NEW    YORK 

JOHN    LANE   COMPANY 
1914 


TO 
CATIILEEN   NI   HOULIHAN 


Oh,  for  the  charm  of  her, 
Subtle  and  strange .' 
Tang  of  the  ocean, 
Scent  of  the  field; 
Blush  of  the  rosebud, 
Grace  of  the  tree  ; 
Dusk  on  the  moorland, 
Gentle  and  grey  ; 
Call  of  the  curlew, 
Aloft  and  alone — 
Oh,  for  the  charm  of  her, 
Calling  me  home  ! 


2081391 


CONTENTS 


CELTIC   MEMORIES 

PAGE 

THE  EXILE  ....... 

9 

THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON  .... 

ii 

SAINT  PATRICK    

«5 

KING  MUIREDACH         

16 

FROM  THE  MONASTERY  DOOR. 

18 

FROM  KERRY        

19 

21 

AT   HOLLYBROOKE             

22 

WHO*                    

25 

THE  WANDERER  

26 

SONNETS  TO  EVA 

FOR  A  BOOK         

28 

THE  DREAM  CITY        

29 

To  EVA  IN  PARADISE  

30 
31 

KARKOI  

32 

Vlli  CONTENTS 

OTHER  POEMS  ,.iGE 

THE  LAND  OF  FANCY  ......  33 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 34 

MY  GARDEN 35 

AT  TWILIGHT 36 

A  LA  PLUS  BELLE 37 

THE  LONELY  ROAD 38 

COME  BACK  ........  40 

ON  HEARING  OF  A  FRIEND'S  ENGAGEMENT  .        .  41 

MY  GIFT      ........  42 

EASTER 43 

A  VALENTINE       .......  45 

AT  NIGHT    ........  46 

MY  PRAYER 47 

HEART'S  GARDEN 48 

THE  VISION 49 

REVELATION 50 

THE  CONCERT      .        .         .        .         .        .         .  51 

K6NIGSKINDER      .......  52 

ON  A  LINE  BY  HENRY  KING  53 

MORNING  MOONRISE 54 

A  PETITION  TO  GOD  THE  FATHER  55 

LOVE  THE  GUIDE 57 

To    ONE    WHO    COMPLAINED    OF    THE    WIND    IN 

HER  FACE 58 

WITH  A  COPY  OF  "THE  PRICE  OF  Lis  DORIS"     .  59 

OUT  OF  THE  WEST 60 

THE  RECORD  62 


The  Exile 

Tiagam  tar  muir  medraig  moill 
(Let  us  go  over  the  murmuring,  placid  sea) 

The  Chase  of  Sid  na  mBan  Finn 

LET  us  go  over  the  murmuring  sea, 

Away  from  the  jarring  world, 
Back  to  the  peace  of  the  Irish  hills, 

In  the  mists  of  morning  curled. 

Let  us  hark  to  the  song  of  the  fairy  folk 

In  a  moonlit  glen  at  eve, 
And  the  half-heard  patter  of  fairy  feet 

While  their  intricate  dance  they  weave. 

Hark  to  the  baying  of  sweet-mouthed  hounds, 

As  the  Fian  host  sweeps  by, 
Chasing  the  boar  with  bristling  back, 

For  Failbe's  death  to  die. 

Before  me  stretches  the  dancing  sea, 

Far  out  to  the  Irish  shore, 
And  my  heart  would  follow  a  gull  I  watched 

Till  I  could  see  no  more. 


THE   EXILE 

My  heart  would  fly  to  a  house  that  stands 
By  the  bay  of  Cushendun, 

And  would  wait  on  the  ledge  of  a  window  there- 
May  the  casement  open  soon  ! 

My  lady  would  take  my  heart  in  her  hands, 

As  a  young  bird  weak  of  wing, 
And  bending  low  her  lovely  head, 

Whisper  its  comforting. 

My  heart  would  sing  its  song  of  joy, 

Filling  the  world  with  tune  ; 
And  my  lady  would  smile,  and  say  perhaps  : 

"  Pray  God  he  cometh  soon  !  " 


10 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

COME  climb  the  top  of  Carintoul, 

On  Samain  Eve  with  me  ; 
When  Caragh  Lake  lies  dark  and  still, 

And  stars  shine  frostily. 

The  leafless  trees  like  Druids  stand, 
Wrapped  in  the  robes  of  night ; 

Guarding  the  lore  of  ancient  days 
From  our  dull  human  sight. 

A  bank  of  clouds  hangs  in  the  sky, 
Where  the  new  moon  should  be ; 

And  from  the  west  the  night  breeze  brings 
The  salt  smell  of  the  sea. 

Northward  I  look,  toward  the  land 

Of  mighty  Conchobar ; 
Where  Emain  reared  its  stately  walls, 

Home  of  the  great  in  war. 
ii 


THE   RISING  OF   THE   MOON 

E'en  as  I  look  a  beam  of  light 
Crosses  the  darken'd  sky, 

And  like  a  blazing  beacon  burns 
Brightly  and  steadily. 


In  this  clear  glow  I  see  again, 
'Round  Emain's  spacious  hall, 

The  ancient  Red  Branch  chivalry — 
The  warrior  and  the  thrall. 


The  great  king  sits  upon  his  throne, 

Cuchulain  at  his  knee ; 
And  'mid  a  silence  grave,  profound, 

The  minstrel  sings  his  glee. 

He  sings  a  song  of  plaintive  note, 

Of  a  lost  land  far  away, 
Wherein  a  hundred  weary  years 

Seem  but  a  happy  day. 

The  meadows  there  are  ever  green, 
And  the  angry  wind-toss' d  sea, 

That  lies  beyond  the  headlands  far, 
Another  flow'ring  lea. 


THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON 

There  mortal  knights  are  sometimes  led 

By  damsels  passing  fair ; 
And  through  a  fairy's  love  gain  strength 

Their  mortal  ills  to  bear. 


Now  yet  again  the  minstrel  sings 
The  valiant  deeds  of  war  ; 

And  faint  I  hear  the  clash  of  arms, 
And  a  mighty  muffl'd  roar 

Arising  from  five  hundred  throats, 
As  the  picture  fades  away  ; 

And  the  murky  sky  returns  again, 
As  dark  succeeds  the  day. 


O  Erin  !  could  this  latter  time 
Call  forth  a  warrior  band, 

Valiant  of  heart  as  those  I  saw, 
And,  like  them,  strong  of  hand. 


\Vhere  are  the  scholars,  where  the  saints 
Whom  monarchs  sought  of  old  ? 

And  is  that  mighty  flame  of  love 
That  burn'd  for  thee,  grown  cold  ? 
13 


THE   RISING   OF   THE  MOON 

Where  now  the  minstrel,  where  the  bard, 

Thy  falt'ring  sons  to  lead 
Back  to  the  happy  other  world, 

To  gain  the  strength  they  need  ? 

Such  now  my  thought,  as  sad  I  turn 

To  make  my  slow  descent ; 
But  as  I  turn,  I  see  the  sky, 

And  the  bank  of  clouds  is  rent. 

At  the  sight  I  see  my  heart  is  glad, 

And  sings  a  merry  tune  : 
From  out  the  clouds  ;  across  the  lakes 

The  rising  of  the  moon. 


Saint  Patrick 

IN  Erin  lives  an  ancient  legend  still, 
Of  holy  Patrick  on  the  hill  of  Slane, 
On  Easter  Even,  when  he  came  again 

For  service  due  to  work  his  Master's  will ; 

And  lit  the  Paschal  fire,  so  soon  to  fill 
All  Erin  with  its  light,  and  tell  the  pain 
Of  our  Lord's  death  ;  by  which  we  too  may  gain 

His  triumph  over  our  last  earthly  ill. 

How  burns  the  beacon  which  that  Easter  Eve 
Saint  Patrick  kindled  ?     Is  his  faith  supreme, 

And  the  great  Church  he  laboured  long  to  leave 
In  the  dear  isle  of  which  I  fondly  dream  ? 

I  saw  to-day  a  legate  sent  from  Rome — 

Does  that  dead  city  rule  Saint  Patrick's  home  ? 


King  Muiredach 


Oroit  do  Muiredach 
(A  prayer  for  Muiredach) 

Inscription  on   the  Cross  oj  Muiredach, 
Monasterboice 

PRAY  for  King  Muiredach,  chieftain  and  priest ; 
King  on  the  battlefield,  king  at  the  feast. 

Great  were  the  deeds  of  him,  gracious  to  all ; 
Many  the  knives  he  greas'd,  seated  in  hall. 

Deep  were  the  pools  of  ale ;  loud  was  the  praise 
Shouted  by  stalwart  men,  sung  in  brave  lays. 

Doughty  the  deeds  of  him,  first  in  the  fray, 
Flashing  the  Blood  Drinker,  sullen  and  grey. 

Rock  of  the  battlefield,  dash'd  he  aside 
Waves  of  the  foemen  that  clung  to  his  side. 

Swift  flew  his  chariot,  racing  the  wind  : 
Woe  to  the  laggards  'twas  leaving  behind  ! 
16 


KING   MUIREDACH 

Three  waves  of  Erin  cried  his  distress 
On  the  red  evening  he  fell  in  the  press. 

Keen  the  King,  priests  of  fair  Monasterboice  ! 
Dead  lies  the  sov'reign  of  green  Erin's  choice. 

Dim  grow  the  altar  lights.     Lo  !  it  is  day. 
Pray  for  the  soul  of  him  ;  priests  of  God,  pray  ! 


From  the  Monastery  Door 

GIVE  me  a  house  where  I  may  see  the  hills, 
And  past  the  hills  a  strip  of  dark  blue  sea ; 
And  then  a  happy  bird  who  sings  to  me 

Of  earth  forgotten  with  its  mortal  ills. 

This  is  God's  book ;  where  His  blest  spirit  fills 
Rocks,  rivers,  mountains,  and  the  spreading  tree 
Beneath  whose  boughs  I  sit  and  watch  the  bee, 

Through  the  still  garden  darting  as  he  wills. 

This  is  the  page  here  given  us  to  read  ; 

That  we  may  know  the  worthless  world  we  made, 
Through  the  calm  loveliness  that  God  has  laid 

On  the  dumb  things  that  we  so  little  heed. 

So  will  I  trust  my  Father,  loving,  wise, 

Who  for  this  world  will  give  me  Paradise. 


18 


From  Kerry 

I  HEARD  the  lilt  of  my  young  love's  song, 

As  he  went  down  the  lane ; 
And  I  wonder'd  as  I  heard  him  go, 

"  Will  he  come  back  again  ?  " 

Tis  he  will  dance  with  ladies  gay, 

The  finest  man  of  all ; 
And  he'll  forget  the  roadside  dance, 

And  Kerry  in  the  fall. 

I  heard  the  call  of  a  lone  wild  goose, 

In  her  flight  toward  the  sea. 
"  Ah,  take  my  love  a  thought  of  home, 

And  bring  him  back  to  me  ! " 

The  mist  rolls  in  from  the  silent  hills, 
And  the  smell  of  peat  is  strong ; 

The  kine  are  gather'd  for  the  night— 
The  twilight  hour  is  long  ! 

The  lights  are  lit ;  the  stars  are  out ; 

The  evening  air  is  cool ; 
And  far  away,  a  dull,  dark  mass, 

The  peak  of  Carintoul. 

19  c  2 


FROM   KERRY 

"  And  yet,  perchance,  he'll  not  forget," 

Is  what  yon  star  would  say. 
He  will  unlatch  the  garden  gate — 

The  years  are  yesterday. 

Tis  then  the  mourning  gulls  shall  scream, 

And  wheel,  a  flash  of  white, 
Up,  up,  towards  the  new-found  sun, 

That  bathes  them  in  his  light. 

The  hills  will  look  a  strip  of  green, 

The  bay  a  streak  of  blue ; 
For  when  my  love  comes  home  again, 

It  will  be  springtime  too. 

But  now  the  night  is  come  at  last, 

The  world  is  dark  and  cold. 
Ah,  would  my  love  were  by  my  side, 

When  all  the  world  grows  old  ! 


Dedication 

EV'N  as  lord  Tristram  went  across  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  learning  of  the  Irish  land 
To  heal  the  grievous  wound  that  Morolt's  hand 

Had  giv'n,  through  the  dread  queen's  sorcery  ; 

Ev'n  as  Iseult,  the  wondrous  bride-to-be, 
Rapt  him  away  to  Love's  bright  Fairyland ; 
Raised  him  to  meet  God's  love,  and  understand 

Man's  swift  obedience  to  Love's  mastery : 

Came  I  to  Erin,  pledg'd  Love's  faithful  knight ; 

Not  wounded  yet  but  with  the  pain  of  bliss, 
Engender'd  by  the  thought  of  her  whose  sight 

Inspires  my  pen  to  tell  her  name  in  this. 
Lady !  grant  me  but  leave  to  sing  the  praise 
Love  asks  of  all  on  whom  your  eyes  may  gaze. 


At  Hollybrooke 

WHERE  in  the  wonder  of  the  Wicklow  hills 

Dwells  there  a  maiden  dressed  in  garments  green, 
Whose  fairy  loveliness  no  man  has  seen, 

Save  when  the  moon  the  silent  valley  fills  ? 

Joining  their  music  to  the  bird  who  trills 
For  fairy  dancing,  the  dim  branches  lean 
Like  minstrels  paying  homage  to  a  queen, 

Eager  to  serve  her  in  whate'er  she  wills. 

Thus  have  I  come  to  pay  my  service  due 
To  her  whose  image  lives  within  my  heart, 
Fairer,  through  Fancy,  than  its  counterpart 

In  mortal  guise.     Such  was  my  thought  till  you, 

Dear  Cousin,  on  my  waiting  vision  came  : 

A  fairy  figure  with  a  mortal's  name. 


The  Emigrant 

I  CAN  see  you  now,  Mavourneen, 
Just  beside  your  cabin  door ; 

And  you  wave  your  hand,  Mavourneen, 
As  you've  often  done  before. 

See  the  weary  sun,  Mavourneen, 
How  he's  sinking  in  the  west ; 

And  the  evening  sky  behind  you, 
In  a  thousand  colours  drest. 

I  am  coming  home,  Mavourneen, 
For  the  long  day's  work  is  done ; 

And  the  birds  are  flying  homeward, 
Calling  softly,  one  by  one. 

You  will  lay  your  hands,  Mavourneen, 
On  my  shoulders,  and  will  say  : 

"  Let  me  lift  the  burden,  dear  one ; 
Tis  the  night  gives  rest  to  day." 
23 


THE  EMIGRANT 

And  your  long  black  hair,  Mavourneen, 
Will  fall  gently  'round  my  face ; 

And  I'll  think  that  death  has  found  me 
In  the  bliss  of  your  embrace. 

Tis  the  call  of  home,  Mavourneen, 

'Mid  the  clang  of  city  cars, 
And  the  gaunt,  grey  office  buildings 

That  have  long  shut  out  the  stars. 

I  can  see  you  now,  Mavourneen, 
Just  beside  your  cabin  door. 

'Tis  the  good  God  knows,  Mavourneen, 
If  I'll  ever  see  you  more. 


Who? 

THE  Lady  who  loves  me, 
Where  does  she  live  ? 
Over  the  ocean, 
Over  the  hill ; 
Queen  of  a  palace, 
Light  of  a  mill. 
The  Lady  who  loves  me, 
What  joy  does  she  give  ! 

The  Lady  who  loves  me, 
What  is  her  grace  ? 
Whiteness  of  moonbeams 
Where  fairies  are  found  ; 
Branch  of  the  rowan 
When  blossoms  abound. 
The  Lady  who  loves  me, 
The  sky  is  her  face. 

The  Lady  who  loves  me, 
What  is  her  name  ? 
The  wind  in  the  tree-tops, 
The  shine  of  the  sea, 
Betoken  a  beauty 
Less  lovely  than  she. 
The  Lady  who  loves  me- 
Fve  mention'd  her  name. 
25 


The  Wanderer 

I  HAVE  heard  the  bugles  blowing 
The  "  Retreat "  across  the  plain, 

And  the  snow-clad  mountains  echo 
The  sad  signal  twice  again. 

I  have  seen  the  red  sun  sinking 
To  an  Indian  river's  breast ; 

While  I  heard  the  lap  of  water, 
And  I  watched  the  boats  at  rest. 

I  have  heard  the  breeze  at  evening 
Stir  the  palms  above  my  head, 

While  a  caravan  wound  slowly 
Past  a  sky  of  flaming  red. 

I  have  seen  the  young  girls  walking 
Down  an  English  village  lane, 

With  their  lover's  arm  around  them, 
While  the  world  grew  young  again. 
26 


THE  WANDERER 

I  have  heard  the  darkies  singing, 
As  the  sun  dropped  out  of  sight, 

While  through  the  cabin  windows 
Came  a  cheerful  yellow  light. 

But  the  Irish  hills  at  evening 
Are  the  fairest  sight  I've  seen  ; 

And  a  Iktle  white-walled  cottage 
Where  there  waits  a  glad  colleen. 


For  a  Book 

A  MONK  once  laboured  in  a  lonely  cell, 

Gilding  the  pages  of  a  missal  rare, 

And  those  who  passed  looked  in  to  see  him  there, 
His  lips  soft  smiling,  and  a  light  that  fell 
Glorious  about  his  head ;  and  one  would  tell : 

"  Here  sits  he  all  the  day  and  will  not  spare 

Himself  for  weariness,  but  his  look  will  bear 
Such  peace  as  in  God's  face  alone  may  dwell." 

Lady,  I  give  thee  this  and  ask  thee  here 
To  read  these  pages  in  the  light  that  made 

The  monk  smile  always,  and  his  task,  each  year 
Grow  lighter  and  his  soul  more  unafraid ; 
Love  had  its  wonder  on  his  spirit  laid ; 

And  in  that  vision's  brightness  all  was  dear. 


28 


The  Dream  City 

I  GAZED  at  you  and  saw  your  eyes  were  sad, 

And  in  that  sadness  I,  too,  had  a  share ; 
But  your  hand  crept  near  mine,  and  then  how  glad 

Was  I,  in  turn,  that  you  had  placed  it  there  : 
For  we  together  wandered  through  the  world, 

Amid  its  darkness  we  alone  could  see 
The  path  which,  'round  a  rocky  hillside  curled, 

Led  to  the  city  where  our  dreams  would  be. 
Sombre  those  walls,  like  shadows  of  the  night, 

And  'round  the  turrets  ever-changing  haze  ; 
Within  the  streets  the  sad  of  heart  are  bright ; 

Love  is  the  stipend  paid  for  happy  days. 
Still  stands  the  city,  and  the  sunset  glow 
Shall  lead  us  thither  by  the  path  we  know. 


=  9 


To  Eva  in  Paradise 

I  GAVE  you  all  my  heart  so  long  ago 

I  have  forgotten  when  the  gift  was  made, 
Receiving  part  of  yours,  that  I  might  know 

How  great  a  portion  in  my  hands  was  laid. 
Each  morn  I  leave  the  ready  task  of  life, 

And  seek  the  corner  where  your  heart,  enshrined, 
Lends  peace  which,  with  a  thousand  colours  rife, 

Fills  every  chamber  of  my  eager  mind. 
Lady,  I  look  to  you  as  men  of  old 

Looked  to  their  Virgin,  and  like  them  I  pray  : 
"  Lead  me  but  upward  ;  give  me  grace  to  hold 

Fast  to  the  spirit  and  escape  the  clay," 
Your  heart,  perchance,  some  day  all  mine  will  be. 

Why  should  I  ask  ?     Enough  is  granted  me. 


Pearl 

(For  the  old  English  poem  of  that  name) 

WERE  I  a  diver  of  the  Orient, 

I'd  win  you  pearls  such  as  no  queen  has  worn ; 
Deeming  to  match  your  worth  no  ornament 

Save  these,  in  the  pure  depths  of  ocean  born  : 
Were  I  a  merchant,  whose  unnumbered  fleet 

Brought  rarest  spices,  silks  and  rich  perfumes, 
I'd  lay  these  treasures,  also,  at  your  feet, 

To  greet  that  gentleness  which  Love  assumes. 
I  have  a  gift  more  precious  far  than  these, 

That  none  can  steal,  from  which  I  will  not  part — 
Read  then  this  Vision,  and  therein  find  ease, 

From  contemplation  of  the  human  heart. 
This  is  my  Pearl ;  ask  not  its  worth  of  me  : 

You  hold  my  heart ;  turn  there  if  you  would  see. 


Kardol 

LIKE  Tristram  desolate  by  a  sunlit  sea, 

I  wait  for  you,  Beloved,  and  I  stand 

Gazing  forever  toward  a  foreign  land, 
Where  you  sojourn  and  where  I  cannot  be  ; 
But  here  the  waters  sparkle  joyfully 

And,  heartsick,  I  desire  God's  almighty  hand, 

That  I  may  cross  the  ocean,  as  that  band 
Which  walked  dryshod  to  life  and  victory. 
You  wander  in  old  cities,  still  and  grey, 

And  with  the  hum  of  summer,  or  the  breath 
Of  spring,  or  thin-toned  bells  at  close  of  day, 

Perchance  the  thought  of  me  will  come,  like  Death, 
To  sink  into  your  soul,  and  take  away 

Something  of  you,  to  show  that  you  keep  faith. 


The  Land  of  Fancy 

To  John  Hall  \Yheek>ck 

You  taught  me,  Friend,  to  love  the  gift  of  song, 

And  led  my  steps  through  Fancy's  dim-hued  land, 

Fairer  than  that  fair  canvas  Watteau's  hand 

Has  sketch'd  ;  where  a  gay-coloured,  laughing  throng, 

On  Cytherea's  island  moves  among 

The  leafy  trees,  in  stately  saraband 

Or  measured  minuet,  while  lovers  stand 

Beside  their  lov'd  ones ;  for  Love's  day  is  long. 

How  much  more  rare  the  realm  that  you  have  shown  : 

Damsels  more  lovely,  and  more  shelt'ring  trees ; 

And  softer  music,  borne  upon  a  breeze 

Gentler  than  fairy  fingers  laid  upon 

The  cheek,  when  Day  from  Evening's  path  has  flown — 

These  beauties,  by  your  guidance,  I  have  known. 


33 


William  Wordsworth 

ENRAPTURED  singer  of  the  glorious  earth, 

The  cloud-capped  mountain  and  the  flowery  lea, 
The  shining  streamlet  and  the  moonlit  sea  ; 
The  thousand  wonders  of  great  Nature's  birth  : 
That  which  I  find  of  most  enduring  worth, 
Ringing  adown  time's  paths  eternally, 
As  some  clear  curfew  bell  is  borne  to  me, 
When  gentle  evening  stills  the  noise  of  earth  ; 

Is  thy  clear  summons  to  the  soul  of  man 
To  turn  to  Nature,  and  in  her  behold 

The  mystic  symbols  of  God's  loving  plan 
To  lead  us  safely  to  His  heavenly  fold, 
Where  we  may  share  the  peace  that  Nature  shows 
In  each  green  pasture  and  new-budding  rose. 


34 


My  Garden 


I  WALKED  within  my  garden  plot, 
Where  loveliest  flow'rs  abound ; 

The  lazy  sun  was  still  abed, 
My  plants  in  slumber  sound. 

But  soon  the  blossoms  raised  their  heads 
And  danced  in  childish  glee. 

Startled,  I  look'd  towards  the  sun, 
And  found  no  sun  but  thee  ! 


35 


At  Twilight 

ASHES  of  dead  love  and  dead  desire  : 
The  silent  room,  the  crackling  fire — 
Could  you  forget,  could  you  forget  ? 

Speechless  we  sat,  your  eyes  downcast ; 
And,  though  we  had  the  happy  past, 

Your  eyes  were  wet,  your  eyes  were  wet. 

Perchance  you  felt  the  future  days, 
Which  brought  the  sund'ring  of  our  ways — 
But  we  had  met,  but  we  had  met. 

O  happy  days  !  glad  Memory  brings 
Remembrance  of  forgotten  things — 
Be  with  us  yet,  be  with  us  yet. 


A  la  plus  belle 

CHANSON  d'amour, 
Chanson  de  jeunessc, 
Luit  le  printemps 
D'eternelle  ivresse. 

Chanson  de  deuil. 
Chanson  de  vieillesse 
Aux  mains  de  Dieu 
Nouvelle  tendresse. 


37 


The  Lonely  Road 

I  WALKED  along  a  lonely  road, 

O'er  many  a  tedious  hill ; 
While  all  around  me  stretch'd  a  world, 

Dark,  desolate,  and  still. 

Weary  and  sad  of  heart  I  trudged ; 

The  harsh  ground  hurt  my  feet : 
I  was  anhunger'd,  yet  I  saw 

No  place  to  sit  and  eat. 

I  walked  along  a  lonely  road, 
Through  many  an  humble  town, 

Where  men  and  maids  danced  on  the  green 
To  win  a  rustic  crown. 

The  broken  road  led  on  and  up 

Across  a  mountain  pass  : 
I  came  into  a  shady  glen, 

And  sat  me  on  the  grass. 

I  walked  along  a  lonely  road ; 

A  figure  came  in  sight, 
Which  nearer  drew,  and  soon  became 

A  maiden  dressed  in  white. 
38 


THE   LONELY   ROAD 

I  struggled  on  ;  my  set  eyes  burned  : 
The  maiden  still  drew  near. 

Her  eyes  were  kind,  her  voice  was  like 
The  running  streamlet  clear. 

I  walked  along  a  lonely  road, 
The  maiden's  hand  in  mine ; 

While  all  around,  the  dull  grey  world 
Glowed  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

No  longer  lonely  was  the  road, 

Nor  sad  of  heart  was  I ; 
For  at  the  last,  my  love  beside, 

I'll  sleep  beneath  the  sky. 


39 


Come  Back 

COME  back  !  you  have  been  long  away  ; 

Tis  almost  sunset,  and  the  dimming  light 
Makes  the  three  islands  seem  so  far  away 

'Neath  the  grey  wings  of  the  approaching  night. 

'Tis  almost  dark.     I  hear  your  voice, 

And  all  the  sadness  from  my  tortur'd  heart 

Is  gone ;  as  when  at  dawn  a  bird's  glad  voice 
Makes  the  long-ling'ring  night  in  haste  depart. 


40 


On  Hearing  of  a  Friend's 
Engagement 

"Bright  star,  woul'I  I  were  steadfast  as  thou  art         " 

MAY  I  now  sing  the  praise  of  her  who  shines 
Ev'n  as  a  star  in  the  blue  dome  of  night ; 
Lighting  the  heavens  with  a  lustrous  light 

Everlastingly,  till  the  dim  dark  declines. 

As  the  sublimity  of  God's  designs 

Never  is  shown  to  our  poor  mortal  sight, 
Only  by  faith  may  we  suspect  how  bright 

Rises  elsewhere  the  star  our  night  defines. 

Come  and  shine  on  me  once  again,  my  Star  ! 
Radiant  in  beauty  ;  thy  presence  grant  me  peace, 
Or  else  thine  absence  faith  to  know  thy  rays 

Shine  on  another,  granting  him  release 
Beyond  this  dizzy  world ;  and  all  his  days 
Youth,  and  the  love  that  links  the  near  and  far. 


My  Gift 

"  L'  amor  che  move  il  sole  e  1'  altre  stelle  " 

THREE  kings  their  gifts  before  the  Christ  Child  laid 

And  knelt  in  homage  to  the  world's  dear  king  ; 
While  all  the  angels,  in  bright  ranks  arrayed, 

Their  splendour  lent  to  grace  the  offering. 
Gold,  myrrh,  frankincense,  were  the  gifts  thus  brought 

By  puissant  princes  of  a  time  outgrown, 
To  that  Immortal  Son,  who  to  us  taught 

The  power  almighty  ruling  Heaven's  throne. 
No  gifts  have  I  that  royal  donors  bear  : 

Gold  in  rare  patterns,  gems  of  priceless  worth ; 
Yet  to  your  loveliness  a  gift  more  rare, 

Even  the  jewel  which  Christ  gave  to  earth. 
Thus,  Lady,  may  this  sonnet  sing  to  thee 
Of  Love  that  is,  and  at  all  times  shall  be. 


42 


Easter 

THE  years  are  passing,  and  with  Time  conies  change 
The  rising  of  the  tide  Eternity 
Covers  our  lives,  as  on  a  beach  the  sea 

Makes  the  familiar  places  new  and  strange. 

This  is  the  spring,  and  the  cloud-dappl'd  skies 
Gleam  with  the  sunshine  ;  and  the  lusty  breeze 
Blows,  joyous,  through  the  newly-budding  trees, 

And  with  the  birds  our  waken'd  spirits  rise. 

The  season  passes,  and  the  summer  days 

With  their  soft  warmth,  and  languid,  perfum'd  air, 
Give  place  to  winter;  when  the  branches  bare 

Sigh  with  the  cold,  and  the  glad  Yule-logs  blaze. 

So  with  our  lives  ;  to  us  come  days  of  pain, 
When  we  must  cry  against  the  bitter  world, 
Forgetting  the  dim  hills,  in  mist  close  curl'd, 

And  the  fresh  springtime  on  the  flow'ring  plain. 
43 


EASTER 

When  you  have  reached  this  sad  and  weary  time, 
Dear  Friend,  forget  me  not ;  nor  this  glad  spring, 
When,  by  the  wind-swept  river  wandering, 

We  talked  together  of  the  joys  of  rhyme. 

Open  this  book,  when  you  have  thought  of  me, 
And,  reading  there,  perchance  the  present  pain 
Will  be  assuaged,  and  you  will  smile  again 

For  the  swift  healing  of  a  memory. 

Yet  if  we  meet  not  in  the  passing  years, 

We  hold  God's  promise  of  a  bright  to-morrow  ; 
When  we  receive  His  gift  of  joy  for  sorrow, 

And,  meeting  one  another,  smile  through  tears. 


A  Valentine 

LOVE  is  no  rosy  boy, 
Young  and  uncouth ; 

Dark  skinn'd,  dark  ey'd  is  he, 
In  very  truth. 

Ah,  Love,  thou  naughty  boy  ! 

Bleeding  from  many  wounds, 

On  thee  I  wait. 
Now  heal  my  hurts,  or  else 

Death  seals  my  fate 


45 


At  Night 

MANY  the  stars  that  come, 

In  haste  to  keep 
Safely  my  Lady  fair, 

Sound  in  her  sleep. 

Ah,  happy  stars ! 

Lend  me  your  place  awhile ; 
Let  me  but  stay 

Enraptur'd  through  the  night- 
Night  without  day ! 


My  Prayer 

SEND  down  upon  me  once  again  Thy  grace, 

0  God  !  Teach  me  to  mortify  the  clay, 
And  lead  me  onward  by  the  heavy  way 

That  comes  at  length  to  the  most  perfect  place 
Where    Thou    art    thron'd,  while    saints    themselves 

abase ; 

Guiding  the  passage  of  each  toilsome  day, 
Knowing  the  sorrows  whose  relief  we  pray, 
Holding  all  joy  in  Thy  calm,  shining  face. 

Lord,  as  the  cripple  who  once  heard  Thy  voice, 

1  would  beseech  Thee  come  and  say  to  me  : 
"  Rise  !  thine  infirmity  put  off;  rejoice  ! 

There  is  no  sin  I  may  not  purge  from  thee." 
Thou  hast  the  soul ;  now  let  the  body  be 
Again  the  subject  of  Thy  loving  choice 


47 


Heart's  Garden 

I  HAVE  a  garden  fill'd  with  many  flowers : 
The  mignonette,  the  sweet  pea  and  the  rose  ; 
Daisies  and  daffodils,  whose  colour  glows 

The  fairer  for  the  verdure  which  embowers 

Their  beauty,  and  sets  forth  their  hidden  powers 
To  charm  my  heart,  whenever  at  the  close 
Of  day's  dull  hurry,  I  would  seek  repose 

In  my  still  garden  in  the  darkening  hours. 

Thus,  Lady,  do  I  keep  a  place  apart, 

Wherein  my  love  for  you  cloister'd  shall  be, 

Far  from  the  rattle  of  the  city  cart ; 

Ev'n  as  my  garden  ;  where  daily  I  may  see 
The  flowers  of  your  love,  and  none  from  me 

May  win  the  hidden  secret  of  my  heart. 


48 


The  Vision 

I  STOOD  before  the  gates  of  Sin, 

And  watched  the  motley,  laughing  throng 
Press  eagerly  to  enter  in  ; 

And  as  I  went  to  do  her  wrong, 
I  saw  her  face. 

I  buffeted  the  storm  of  Pain, 
And  nowhere  found  I  any  rest  ; 

Yet  when  I  thought  to  seek  the  main 
Upon  the  foaming  river's  breast, 
I  saw  her  face. 

O  unforgotten  sight  !  that  clears 
The  murky  mist  of  mortal  strife ; 

God  grant  that  when  my  spirit  nears 
The  morning  of  immortal  life, 
I  see  her  face  ! 


49 


Revelation 

O  TIME  of  rapture,  time  when  first  I  knew 
Of  thy  soft  radiance  shed  athwart  my  night, 
My  lovely  Star,  which  makest  all  things  bright ; 

The  murky  false  lit  by  the  shining  true  ! 

Clear  were  the  valleys  which  I  then  passed  through, 
Led  by  the  brilliance  of  thy  steady  light, 
To  reach  the  peak  whence  I  could  gain  a  sight 

Of  the  fair  land  toward  which  my  footsteps  drew. 

Kind  Star,  come  down  to  earth,  again  to  prove — 
As  Christ  once  proved  of  our  weak  mortal  state, 

When  thy  bright  harbinger  in  splendour  stood 
Above  the  cradle  where  great  kings  did  wait, 

In  wond'ring  worship  of  God's  flesh  and  blood — 
Mankind  is  naught  without  Immortal  Love. 


5° 


The  Concert 

O  MUSIC,  when  the  light  grows  dim, 
Sing  thou  the  praises  of  my  love  to  me  ! 

O  Sun,  hid  by  the  mountain's  rim, 
Bring  me  a  message  of  Eternity  ! 

Love  is  but  longing ; 

So  sing  the  strings  : 
Man  is  aspiring 

To  higher  things. 

Night  falls  :  the  spent  day  quickly  dies ; 

The  music  sounds  a  perfect  final  close. 
O  Love  !  Nature  now  sleeping  lies, 

As  we  shall  sleep,  calm  in  our  last  repose. 


Si  E  2 


Konigskinder 

(Suggested  by  Humperdinck's  opera) 

As  that  young  prince  who  saw  his  crowned  queen, 
Come  through  the  meadows  on  a  springtide  morn, 
To  gladden  with  her  grace  his  heart  forlorn, 

And  lead  his  soul  to  infinite  things  unseen  : 

Or  as,  amid  harsh  winter's  lonely  sheen, 

The  world  about  them  with  dumb  anguish  torn, 
The  twain  return'd ;  she  by  her  lover  borne, 

In   that  white   world   a   bright   branch,   blossoming, 
green. 

Thus,  Lady,  do  I  wait  the  time  when  you 

Shall  burst  upon  my  sight  one  summer  day  ; 

Teaching  my  lips  what  my  dumb  heart  would  say, 
The  silver  message  of  my  service  true  ; 

Of  love  wherein  the  wondering  world  may  be 

Partaker  of  love's  immortality. 


On  a  Line  by  Henry  King 

"  TILL  we  shall  meet  and  never  part." 

What  words  more  truly  tell  my  hope  than  these  ? 

The  gentle  freshness  of  the  summer  breeze, 
The  lovely  fragrance  of  a  field  of  flowers, 
The  rapid  passing  of  unnumber'd  hours — 
These  are  the  spokesmen  of  my  eager  heart. 

Yes,  we  shall  meet  and  never  part. 

Ah,  Love  !  when  shall  this  happy  meeting  be — 
By  the  broad  bosom  of  this  dull  gray  sea, 
The  restless  humming  of  the  city  street, 
Or  at  the  last,  when  our  weak,  weary  feet 
Shall  do  the  bidding  of  a  joyful  heart? 


53 


Morning  Moonrise 

O  GENTLE  Moon  !  thy  limpid  light, 
With  more  than  lover's  constancy, 
Shall  guard  the  bed  whereon  I  lie, 

From  all  the  terrors  of  the  night. 

No  beast  shall  come,  nor  goblin  bold, 
To  fright  my  mind  with  dreams  of  dread 
But  laughing  fairies  'round  my  bed 

Shall  sing  me  plaintive  songs  and  old. 

To  see  thy  silver  Self  appear, 

And  slowly  climb  across  the  dark, 
Why  should  the  angry  watch-dog  bark  ? 

O  rracious  Moon,  shine  clear,  shine  clear  ! 


54 


A  Petition  to  God  the  Father 


IF  I  may  know  the  perfect  truth, 
The  simple  innocence  of  youth, 
Which,  like  a  garment  laid  away, 
I  have  forgot  full  many  a  day  : 
Ah,  if  I  may  ! 

If  I  may  know  the  present  pain 
Is  harbinger  of  joy  again  ; 
As  this  white  winter  covering 
Is  but  the  outer  cloak  of  spring. 

If  I  may  know  the  Church  of  God 
Was  made  for  me,  poor,  worthless  clod ; 
That  I  am  brother  to  God's  Son, 
Blest  by  His  Spirit,  Three  in  One. 

If  I  may  know  that  pride  of  birth 
Has  riven  nations  of  the  earth, 
And  prostitute  and  beggar  are 
My  long-lost  brethren  from  afar. 
55 


A   PETITION   TO   GOD   THE  FATHER 

If  I  may  know  that  lust  of  gold 
Was  his  who  once  my  Saviour  sold ; 
And  those  who  buy  and  sell  to-day 
Would  have  me  bid  my  soul  away. 

If  I  may  know  my  fellow  men 
Will  dub  my  hopes  but  "  Dreams  again  ! 
For  they,  perchance,  will  never  see 
The  universal  harmony. 

Then  I  may  kneel  before  my  Lord, 
And  say  :  "  I  know  the  world's  reward ; 
But  I  have  seen  Thy  light.     Take  me  ! 
My  life  that  some  few  blind  may  see  ! " 
Ah,  if  I  may  ! 


Love  the  Guide 

LOVE  led  my  steps  through  many  tortuous  ways : 

Through   city  streets  where   Love  walked  close  to 
Sin; 

And  past  bleak  buildings  where  men  toil  to  win 
Their  daily  bread  through  years  of  endless  days. 
Love's  eyes  were  laughing  when  I  met  his  gaze ; 

Yet  still  I  follow'd,  ever  out  and  in, 

From  the  confusion  of  the  city's  din 
To  the  dim  lanes  where  Love  with  peasants  plays. 

Love  came  at  length  to  the  low-ceiling'd  room 
In  which  you  sat,  one  cold  October  eve, 
And  left  me ;  but  before  Love  took  his  leave, 
I  saw  him  from  a  roguish  page  become 
A  radiant  angel,  from  whose  shining  eyes 
I  learned  your  presence  was  Love's  paradise. 


57 


To  One  Who  Complained  of  the 
Wind  in  her  Face 

ROUGH  Satyr  Wind,  forbear  thy  rude  embrace  ! 

From  such  uncouthness  must  my  Lady  flee, 

As  that  fair  nymph  who  underneath  the  sea 
Sought  from  Alpheus  a  secluded  place. 
Too  eager  art  thou  for  my  Lady's  grace ; 

And  yet,  O  Wind  !  should  I  complain  of  thee  ? 

If  sight  of  God  the  joy  of  saints  shall  be, 
What  bliss  finds  Nature  in  my  Lady's  face  ! 

Hence  !  sylvan  creatures  whom  I  sang  before  ; 
Hence  !  each  crude  deity  beneath  whose  form 
Lurks  bestial  man,  as  doth  in  flowers  the  worm. 

Teach  me  instead  from  Crestien's  lovely  lore, 

Or  Gottfried's  "  Tristram,"  wherein  Passion's  storm 

Bursts  not  its  bonds,  yet  glows  for  evermore. 


With  a  Copy  of  "  The  Price  of 
Lis  Doris  " 

HERE  read  the  price  once  gladly  paid  by  Lis, 
And  learn  the  lesson  that  a  love  so  slain, 
May,  phoenix-like,  in  splendour  rise  again  ; 

Devotion  crowned  with  a  lasting  bliss. 

This  is  my  prayer  :   at  least  a  share  of  his 

Supreme  surrender,  that  through  years  of  pain, 
Steadfast  in  love  and  service  I  remain 

To  be  rewarded  for  the  joy  I  miss. 

Grant  me  the  grace,  O  God,  this  Christmas  Eve 
To  know  a  part  of  Thine  immortal  love  ! 
That  by  this  knowledge  I  at  last  may  prove 

My  worthiness  my  highest  hope  to  leave, 
Or  else — blest  favour  of  the  Lord  above — 

My  highest  hope  from  her  dear  hands  receive. 


59 


Out  of  the  West 


O  TAKE  me  back  to  England  ! 

Where  the  grass  is  growing  green, 
And  the  trees  bend  low  and  whisper 

To  the  stream  that  flows  between. 

There's  a  tall,  grey  college  tower, 
And  a  cloud-deck'd  summer  sky ; 

And  a  flash  of  rippling  sunshine 
Along  the  spires  of  the  High. 

O  take  me  back  to  England  ! 

Where  the  bleating  of  the  sheep, 
And  the  swish  of  leafy  branches, 

Lull  the  tired  mind  to  sleep. 

There's  a  broad  and  pleasant  meadow 
By  a  sun-kiss'd  classic  stream, 

And  a  walk  'neath  lofty  tree-tops, 

Where  the  great  have  loved  to  dream. 
60 


OUT  OF  THE  WEST 

0  take  me  back  to  England  ! 
Where  the  roses  now  are  blown, 

And  a  fresh-cheek'd  girl  is  waiting 
For  the  man  she's  never  known. 

1  have  only  seen  the  prairie, 

And  the  Rocky  Mountain  snows ; 
But  my  heart  cries  out  for  England 
In  the  month  that  brings  the  rose. 


6: 


The  Record 

E'EN  as  I  write  upon  the  frosted  pane, 
And  what  I  write  is  blotted  out  again  ; 
So  seem  my  faults,  when  my  dear  Lady  tries 
To  blot  them  out  from  all  too  curious  eyes. 


62 


The  thanks  of  the  Author  arc  (ft.-e  to  the  Editors  of 
the  BELLMAN,  SMART  SET  and  BOOK  NEWS  MONTHLY, 
for  permission  to  reprint  verses  that  frst  appeared  in 
their  magazines. 


LONDON  :   PRINTED  BY  WM.  CLOWES  AND  SONS,  LIMITED. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGGNM.  UBRARY  FAOLJTV 

III  1 1  II  I  III  1 1  III  1 1 1 1 
A     000032424     4 


